I’m Richard, 68, and I raised my son Michael alone after my wife passed when he was just ten. We’d always been close, so when he surprised me with news that he’d bought me a cottage in the countryside, I trusted him completely. Leaving the home where I’d raised him was hard, but I believed him when he said it would be perfect for me.
The drive out there felt wrong — empty fields instead of the cozy cottages I’d imagined. My heart dropped when we pulled up to a sign that read “Sunset Haven.” It wasn’t a cottage. It was a nursing home. Michael admitted he’d already sold my house, insisting I needed care because I’d been “forgetful.” I was furious, but nothing prepared me for what I learned next.
A few days later, I overheard staff whispering that Michael had gambling debts and had sold my home to cover them. Betrayal doesn’t begin to describe how I felt. Luckily, an old friend who’s a lawyer stepped in, discovered legal shortcuts in the sale, and fought to get my house back. I moved home, shaken but free from that place.
Michael eventually came to me in tears, confessing everything. He said gambling had spiraled out of control, and he swore he was getting help. He begged for forgiveness. I love my son, but he lied, manipulated me, and stole my home. I don’t know if I can ever trust him again.